


The Impact You Have On Me

by Spoodlemonkey



Series: Inktober/Goretober/Kinktober [25]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Assorted Leafs make an appearance, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Happy Birthday Freddie!, Kinktober 2019, M/M, PWP, Set post season opener, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 11:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: “Thirty.” Freddie smooths a hand along the length of Connors back. He chuckles.  “And one for luck.”“Isn’t the birthday boy supposed to get the birthday spanks?” The crack of Freddie’s hand against his ass registers before the pain. It’s red hot and surges through him like a tidal wave, all consuming. He presses his cheek to the cool counter top and pants.“One.”“Good.” Freddie murmurs. He doesn’t hold back.





	The Impact You Have On Me

**Author's Note:**

> I nearly made it in before midnight! Happy birthday Freddie, please don't ever find this. 
> 
> I've finally managed to write something for these boys again after the trade broke my heart. Guess I'm going to Ottawa on weekends for games! Unbeta'd and everything is Safe, Sane and Consensual in this. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Obviously don't own actual hockey players...so sad.

“Birthday shots ! Birthday shots!” 

Connor follows the drunken shouts towards the back of the bar. The place is crowded, flying high on the first night back of the season; he picks out a few familiar faces and a lot more new ones. The bouncer had let him sneak in the back with a few of the Sens but he’d lost them pretty quickly. He thinks Brady had shouted something about finding a booth but the noise from the speakers is only rivaled by the party going on around them. 

The guys are pretty easy to spot with the way Matty and the Goat dwarf the tables around them. There’s a flock of fans edging their way over, eager to get in on the festivities, to get their time in with the hometown hockey boys. 

Mitch’s deposited a round of shots on the table, handing them out with a wicked grin. His eyes light up when he spots Brownie weaving his way towards their table.

“Look who it is boys!”

A few heads swivel around with welcomes tossed out. He gets dragged in for hugs; he’d arrived home mid morning and hadn’t had more than a few minutes with the guys, passing them by in the hall. It has been surreal, taking that walk to the visiting team's locker room for the first time but it hadn’t been as bad as he’d been expecting. Mo slaps him on the back and Connor wants to ask about Gards but it’s too loud, too busy, just not the time for it.

“They’ll let anyone in here!” Matty yells next to his ear, his hand creeping up to mess with Connor’s hair. He swats him away with a laugh, accepting the seat Matty drags over, sandwiching him between Freddie and himself. It’s hard to believe they were all on the ice together a few hours ago, that Connor’s first point with his new team is against his first. 

One of Freddie’s broad shoulders is pressed against his own, the heat coming off him has Connor leaning into him, he can almost feel it seeping into his sore, tired muscles. 

“So what the hell are you doing here, man?” 

“I thought I’d come buy the birthday boy a drink!” He glances at Freddie, pleased by the smile he receives. He leans in close. “Sorry about the bump tonight, Fred.”

“It’s alright,” Freddie drapes an arm across the back of Connor’s chair. The action tugs him closer against Freddie’s side. It looks casual enough to the guys around them; there’s nothing casual, though, about the way the touch has Connor’s heart racing, or the bolt of lust that races through him as Freddie locks eyes with him. “You can make it up to me.”

Connor swallows, mouth suddenly dry. 

“Let’s start with shots!” Mitch slides two over to them, a knowing smirk on his face. “Happy birthday man! You’re officially  _ old!” _

Freddie puts up token protests but considering the baby faces surrounding them he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. Connor knows how that feels, going from one young team to another and he’s just reached his mid twenties. 

It means he can hold his alcohol better than when he first started in the league. The shots get passed around, Kappy grabbing the next round, then Willy. It keeps going as Connor loses track of who’s grabbed what. He stays pressed close to Freddie’s side throughout it, only leaving to grab a round and whiskey for the birthday boy. Freddie’s hand eventually ends up heavy and possessive on the back of his neck, thumb stroking slowly, teasingly. Connor shivers at the touch, at what it means for them. 

It’s been a long month apart. 

His phone goes off, a few texts from Brady chirping him, reminding him they have a bus to catch in the morning and to use protection. Connor politely tells him where to shove it, flushing as Freddie reads the conversation over his shoulder.

“What time do you have to be back?” Freddie’s breath is hot against his ear and smells faintly of alcohol.

“Bus leaves at ten.” Connor glances at him and finds their faces so close he could just lean in and close the distance between them. 

“Sorry boys,” Freddie pulls back. “We’re calling it a night.” He pushes to his feet, bumping a few fists and waving off the complaints. A few of the rookies look confused but are drunk enough that they’re distracted quickly.

“Good to see you, man.” Matty pulls him in for a tight hug. “Don’t be a stranger.” 

“I’ll have you guys over to see the new apartment soon.” He promises. 

Freddie rests a steady hand low on his back and carefully steers him through the crowd. It’s late enough that there probably isn’t a sober person in the place. No one spares them a second glance. Connor’s used to it, to going mostly under the radar. Freddie usually has more trouble with it, with his height, his size, the fact that he looks like a model. 

Not that Connor’s biased or anything.

The cool night air helps clear his head a little. The streets are still damp from the steady drizzle of the day but the night’s cleared up. Freddie calls them an Uber. 

The ride to Freddie’s passes quietly; Connor spends most of it gazing out the window at the familiar sights. A pang of homesickness hits him unexpectedly and he has to look away. Freddie’s already watching him, and he meets his gaze, steady and understanding. He reaches out and Connor goes easily, sliding across the backseat and under Freddie’s arm. He rests his head on Freddie’s shoulder and tries to breathe through it, to remember how excited he is to be a part of this rebuild, to be playing in the top six again. Freddie’s cologne hasn’t changed, the same warm spices that make him think of cool fall nights, curled up on the couch with a blanket thrown over them and a dumb movie on television. It helps him relax, the knowledge that despite the whirlwind of his life, some things just don’t change.

Freddie’s apartment hasn’t changed either- he flicks on the lights in the kitchen, the living room, leading the way as Connor leaves his shoes by the front door and hangs up his coat. 

“Want something to drink?” 

Connor shakes his head. Now that they’re alone, back in familiar territory, he can feel the tension building. It’s not a bad feeling, more like anticipation for what’s to come. Freddie leans back against the fridge, arms crossed, expression expectant. Here, at least, Connor knows what’s expected of him.

He strips. Works his tie off and tosses it on the counter. He’s more careful with his shirt, but can’t hide the shaking of his hands- eager for what’s to come. His shirt gets placed carefully over the back of a chair, then his dress pants. He gets rid of his socks and boxers until he’s standing before Freddie, bare. Freddie’s gaze is intense, dark and unwavering, taking in every strip of skin that Connor reveals. 

His hands rest against his thighs. His cock is already half hard from the wait, from the time apart, but he makes no move to cover himself up. 

Only then does Freddie step away from the fridge.

He reaches out and Connor goes easily, stepping into his embrace. Big, warm hands slide down his bare back, blunt nails digging in and sending shivers down his spine. He presses in for a kiss and is rewarded for his patience as Freddie meets him halfway. It’s electric, the first touch of their lips, the easy glide, the brush of stubble. Connor opens up for Freddie, lets him lick into his mouth and presses closer, a low groan building at the back of his throat. 

“Connor.” 

He whines, trying to chase after him, eager for more, for everything he can have. Freddie stops him with a hand in his hair. He jerks Connor’s head back, hard enough that it stings, that his throat is bared, unable to move. His eyes water but it goes straight to his dick and he gasps.

“Time for you to make it up to me.”

He releases Connor abruptly. Connor glances down, can see the way Freddie’s cock is tenting in his slacks and his mouth waters. He licks his lips, expecting to be put on his knees. He’s only mildly disappointed when Freddie instead instructs him to brace himself against the counter.

The marble countertop is cool against his overheated skin. It’s smooth, wide enough that there’s nowhere for him to grip, can only brace himself with his spread palms on the flat surface. It’s mostly bare, the minimalist in Freddie coming out, save for a bowl of fruit and two pictures- one of Freddie, Auston and Patty, and another of Freddie and himself. It’s a recent picture, taken at the beginning of the summer, back when he'd practically been living here, back when trade rumors had started to seep in and he’d known his time was limited.

“Thirty.” Freddie smooths a hand along the length of his back and Connor feels his cock jump, eager for any sort of pressure, but knows better than to press up against the counter. Freddie chuckles. “And one for luck.”

“Isn’t the birthday boy supposed to get the birthday spanks?” 

The crack of Freddie’s hand against his ass registers before the pain. It’s red hot and surges through him like a tidal wave, all consuming. He presses his cheek to the cool countertop and pants.

“One.” 

“Good.” Freddie murmurs. He doesn’t hold back.

Connor chokes on his breath, fingers scrambling against the smooth countertop.  _ Two, three, _ Connor can’t decide if he’s shying away from the hits or pressing into them. It hurts, his ass is burning hot, the heat spreading across his skin, through his veins. Freddie is a solid presence behind him, steadying, even as Connor feels like he’s going to fly apart. 

Freddie hits the side of his ass, the meat of his thighs, two quickly together, then spaced apart. It keeps Connor on edge- he can’t relax into it, can’t predict it. Freddie speeds up, the sound of his hand against Connor’s bare skin loud in the quiet of the apartment. Connor can hear his own panting, loud in his ears, his heart racing. His vision blurs so he presses his eyes shut, eyelashes wet. 

_ “Nine…” _ he chokes out. His cock is impossibly hard. The tip brushes against the countertop and he nearly groans at the sensation. Freddie’s hands fall to his hips, tugging them back, forcing him to plant his feet so he can’t brush against it, can’t get any relief. 

He wants to sob. 

“Be good for me.” Freddie murmurs and Connor rocks his head, presses his forehead against the hard surface and tries to breathe. “Colour?”

Connor swallows, throat clicking, too dry.

“Green.” He manages and Freddie smooths a hand across his shoulders.

The next few go by in a blur. Connor feels overheated, untethered. His dick is so hard it hurts- he wants to come, wants this to end, wants this to go on forever. He presses back into Freddie’s hand as he smooths it over his ass, scratches lightly at the reddened skin. 

“You’re doing such a good job.” Freddie presses a kiss to his shoulder. 

Connor’s sobbing by the time they reach twenty- hiccupping, tears leaking steadily down his cheeks, overwhelmed. Freddie hits him again and again and all Connor can do is take it. It’s all he can do to keep count, to force the numbers from red, swollen lips, bitten raw as he’d tried to hold in his cries. 

“You’re beautiful,” Freddie tells him at twenty-four, and, “I love you,” at twenty-six. 

Connor’s voice is wrecked by thirty. He’s drained, muscles weak and barely holding him up. He stutters the number out and focuses on breathing, waiting.

“Last one.” Freddie promises. It’s hard. The hardest one yet- across the meaty flesh of his ass. Connor barely moves. “Good, you were so good for me, babe.” 

The desperation from before has faded, lost under the haze that Connor’s fallen into. Freddie gently pulls him up, rests him back against his chest. He’s careful to keep from pressing against Connor’s abused skin, a strong arm across his chest holding him up when his weak legs refuse to cooperate. 

“Do you want to come now?” Freddie’s breath tickles his ear. He presses a kiss to the column of his neck, brushes their cheeks together. The touch helps ground Connor. He’s slowly coming back to himself, Freddie’s free hand tracing teasing patterns along his stomach, purposefully avoiding his cock. His arousal is making itself known again, his cock hard and insistent where it’s pressed to his belly. 

He nods, head falling back against Freddie’s shoulder. 

Freddie’s hand on his cock is a shock. He certainly hasn’t forgotten what Connor likes, his grip tight and confident. He brings Connor off with just a few strokes, holding him as he shudders through it and comes all over himself. 

Connor sags, boneless in Freddie’s grip. 

He floats, only vaguely aware as they end up in Freddie’s bedroom. He curls up on his stomach, listening to the comforting sounds of Freddie moving around the room. There’s a cool touch on his sore skin and he hisses but Freddie holds him still with a hand on his hip and soon the cream starts to feel good against his skin. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes but eventually he can force his eyes open again. It’s dark in the room and he’s curled himself against Freddie. The light from his phone stings Connor’s eyes but Freddie quickly sets it aside when he notices Connor’s awake.

“How long?” Was he out, he means to say but the words get stuck in his throat. Freddie grabs a water bottle off his side table, helping Connor take careful sips before putting it back. 

“An hour.” He presses a kiss to Connor’s temple. “It hit you pretty hard.” 

“We don’t normally play after games.” Connor points out, sinking into Freddie’s embrace as he rolls onto his side, tugging Connor closer to him. The reason why they’ve changed that rule goes unsaid between them. “Shit. Did you come?” 

Freddie chuckles, the sound rich and smooth. Connor wants to memorize it so he’s never without it. 

“I’m fine.”

“It’s your birthday.” Connor winces when he realizes how late it must be. “Was your birthday.” 

“And I got my present.” Freddie promises, ducking his head to press a sweet kiss to Connor’s lips. Connor flushes but leans into it easily. 

“You can make it up to me in the morning.” Freddie teases.

They make out for awhile until they’re both yawning into it. Somehow it’s just not sexy yawning into each others mouths. Connor hisses when the sheets brush up against his raw skin, so Freddie rolls onto his back, tugging Connor onto his chest. Considering the man is made of muscle he has no right to be as comfortable as he is. 

“Hey,” Connor’s on the brink of sleep. “Happy birthday Fred. Love you.” 

He drifts off to the feeling of Freddie’s smile pressed against his cheek. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Cheesy endings are my jam.


End file.
